


Cross My Heart

by TheAsexualofSpades



Series: Quarantine Drabbles [101]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Platonic Cuddling, Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Protective Knights (Merlin), Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:35:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25051003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: Arthur found Merlin in his chambers, curled so tightly around a pillow he worried he'd hurt himself. He held his servant until they fell asleep, sheltered in the darkness of the curtains.They should know that falling asleep in the afternoon is a guarantee that they'll wake in the middle of the night, when trying to figure out if something is real or just a dream can be...interesting.
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Quarantine Drabbles [101]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677655
Comments: 44
Kudos: 1326





	Cross My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to everyone who asked for a sequel! I'm just realizing i'm making a bunch of these miniseries as the QD goes on

Fandom: Merlin (BBC)

Prompt: Oh, come on now! This demands more. To leave it like that is just sacrilege. - Vladimir_Mithrander

WAAAAAAT nooo more please this is so wonderful - Uniqueapplepie

* * *

“Merlin?”

The body in Arthur’s arms stirs a little, wincing. Arthur shifts his own weight against the headboard.

“Merlin, are you awake?”

“Think so,” Merlin mutters, voice thick with sleep and hoarse from crying.

“Good.” Arthur pulls him closer, even though Merlin’s already sprawled halfway across his lap. “I think we fell asleep at the wrong time, it’s the middle of the night now.”

His words seem to register and Merlin bolts upright, only to smack his head against the top of Arthur’s bed. Arthur winces sympathetically when Merlin collapses back onto him, cradling his poor head. Arthur lays his hand atop Merlin’s.

“Here, come on,” he soothes, “let me see.”

“You can’t see _anything,_ ” Merlin retorts, “that’s the problem.”

Arthur chuckles, reaching for the edge of the curtains. He pulls them back, revealing the silvery glow of his chambers in the moonlight. Easing Merlin back against the pillows, he carefully does up one of the curtains, just enough for them to see, and turns back to his servant. Merlin watches him, only to avert his gaze when Arthur looks back.

They’ll have to work on that.

“Come here,” Arthur calls softly, propping himself up against the edge of the bed with one knee, holding out a hand, “let me see?”

Merlin eyes him a moment longer. Then he shuffles forward, baring his head like an offering. Arthur tries to ignore the stab of pain that shoots through his chest when he sees Merlin’s skinny shoulders shaking in the position.

His movements are quick and perfunctory, making sure there’s no long-lasting injury.

“You’re alright,” he says finally, giving Merlin’s hair a gentle ruffle, “shouldn’t last long. You’re not feeling dizzy, are you?”

Merlin doesn’t look up right away. Arthur frowns.

“Are you?”

“Just a bit,” Merlin mumbles, “but I was feeling dizzy anyway.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, leans forward to push Merlin back against the pillows. “Then _rest_ Merlin, I don’t need you passing out on me.”

“Not going to pass out,” comes the mumble as Arthur turns to change out of his day clothes. A second later, he hears a rustle behind him and sighs.

“Merlin,” he chides gently when he feels Merlin’s fingers helping him, “I said to _rest._ ”

“I can do this,” Merlin argues, “it’s not like it’s strenuous or anything.”

“Oh, really?” Arthur lets it be, turning to Merlin, “then I suppose you won’t be using that excuse in the mornings anymore?”

Merlin mumbles something Arthur doesn’t catch.

“What was that?”

“If you can get out of bed without protesting,” Merlin says, “I’ll dress you without protesting.”

“No deal.”

“Thought not.”

“Idiot.”

“Prat.”

“Clotpole.”

“Dollophead.”

“Still don’t know what that means.”

“In two words?”

“If you say ‘Prince Arthur’ again—“

Merlin laughs and Arthur can’t keep up the façade anymore, smiling with relief when Merlin’s little face splits into a grin. Merlin pulls off his day tunic and drops it into the laundry basket. Arthur turns, sitting on the bed, his bare chest cooling in the silver chambers as Merlin looks for his nightshirt.

“Grab two.”

Merlin glances up. “What?”

“Don’t know which one I want,” Arthur says, feigning extra arrogance, lifting his shoulder in a spoiled shrug, “so bring two.”

Merlin rolls his eyes but does, holding them up for Arthur to consider. Arthur reaches out, pulling them this way and that, checking for fabric quality, where the seams are, which one would hang better on a skinnier frame.

“All in good time, sire,” Merlin says after a good five minutes, “I have every intention to lose feeling in my arms tonight.”

Arthur smirks, taking both nightshirts from him.

“What do you think,” he muses, holding up one of them, “I think this one’s softer, don’t you?”

Merlin raises an eyebrow. Arthur doesn’t budge. Merlin sighs and points at the one in Arthur’s left hand. “That one’s softer.”

“By how much?”

“I don’t know, a _little._ They’re both soft.”

“Of course you’d think so.”

“Well, I wasn’t a prat raised on the finest fabrics in the kingdom.”

“I think,” Arthur declares, flipping over the shirt in his right hand, “I shall wear this one.”

Merlin rolls his eyes and moves to take the one from his left hand, the one he’d said was softer. He frowns when Arthur pulls it away from him.

“Oh, I don’t want this hanging up.” At Merlin’s baffled face, he sniffs and raises his chin, much like how he and Morgana mock the visiting lords. “What if it gets damaged?”

“In your wardrobe?”

“Moths exist, Merlin, I’m sure you know this.”

“There aren’t any moths in your wardrobe?”

“And how can you be so certain?”

“Because I’ve checked!”

“And what of the woodworm?”

Merlin sighs, exasperated. “The _what_?”

“Is that not what I’ve found you leaning over me, looking for?” Arthur tilts his head. “With a goblet, against my headboard?”

Merlin’s shoulders slump. He holds out his hand. “Where would you like me to put the shirt, then?”

“You’ll just have to wear it,” Arthur says easily, pulling on his own nightshirt. When his head pokes out the top, he spies Merlin standing flabbergasted in his chambers, still clutching the shirt. “What?”

“What—why—I’m supposed to do _what?”_

“Wear the shirt, Merlin,” Arthur says, getting up from the bed, “here. Let me show you.”

He takes the shirt from Merlin and tosses it onto the bed. Then he takes the hem of Merlin’s shirt and raises it slowly, smirking a little at the pink flush blooming on Merlin’s cheeks. He gets a few inches above the top of Merlin’s trousers before Merlin realizes what’s happening and stops him with a squeak.

Arthur steps back. Merlin wraps his arms around his waist.

  
“I know how to change my shirt,” Merlin says, “but why am I supposed to _wear_ it?”

“Because if it’s attached to you, you’re less likely to lose it.” At Merlin’s little face, Arthur relents, stepping closer and holding the shirt out to him like an offering. “Because it’ll be more comfortable to sleep in, Merlin, and you _need_ to sleep.”

Merlin looks him up and down, before warily accepting the shirt. Arthur nods, turning away to give Merlin enough privacy to change. He sets his boots at the foot of the bed, making sure everything is ready for them to go to sleep. When it’s been a few minutes, he glances up, sees Merlin in his nightshirt.

The white fabric hangs delicately off one of Merlin’s skinny shoulders, almost glowing in the pale silver light. Merlin’s crop of black hair stands out like a shock against the rest of him, pale, almost wispy in the moonlight.

Arthur swallows. Frowns when he sees the tremble of Merlin’s fingers. He goes back around to Merlin’s side of the bed, absentmindedly fixing the places where it’ll become uncomfortable. When Merlin fidgets, he steps even closer, taking one of Merlin’s hands and resting it on his shoulder.

“Can’t have you falling over,” Arthur bluffs when Merlin hesitates to grab onto him. As he finishes the last unnecessary adjustments, Merlin’s fingers finally close around the loose bits of the nightshirt, drawing them closer together.

Arthur’s run out of things to ‘fix,’ so he simply settles on hand on Merlin’s shoulder, the other on his waist, and stands there, letting them bathe in the soft light.

“Merlin,” he calls quietly, “Merlin, look at me.”

Merlin does, the sharp twist of his mouth imploring Arthur to pull him closer. He turns them carefully, a strange waltz, resting them against the edge of the bed.

“Still dizzy?”

Merlin nods, not daring to look away but clearly fighting to keep looking. Arthur glances around, locates the ties to the curtains, and deftly undoes them, accidentally hitting himself in the face with them as he pushes Merlin to lie back on the bed.

He hears Merlin chuckle in the darkness.

Arthur moves slowly, carefully, feeling around in the darkness for the covers, for the pillows, for Merlin. He finds them, slowly pulling back the covers, up and over them as he wraps a protective arm around his servant. Merlin’s skinny enough that he slots right up against Arthur’s broad chest. He doesn’t imagine the shudder that runs through Merlin’s body.

“Shh,” he soothes as he gets them settled, “it’s alright. It’s just like it was before, yeah? We’re just…a little more comfortable this time.”

Even in the darkness, he can see the worried little wrinkle between Merlin’s brows, remembers the tremble in his hands. Arthur gets them to the center of the bed, wrapping his servant up in as much warmth and security as he can.

Merlin’s going to need it.

Judging by the way Merlin twitches every few seconds, he’s fighting hard to stay awake. Arthur, about to drift off the second his head hits the pillow, growls low in his throat, forcing himself to wake up. If _he’s_ having this much trouble keeping himself awake, he has no _idea_ how hard Merlin is working to keep sleep at bay.

“Merlin,” he murmurs, “can you tell me what’s troubling you?”

Something about darkness, Arthur’s realized, or just not looking directly at the person one’s talking to, has a way of…making things a little easier. Sure enough, he’s rewarded with a sigh a few moments later.

“I’m just tired.”

“You’re tired, yes, but you’re also straining to keep yourself awake,” Arthur corrects lightly, “so something else must be wrong.”

At Merlin’s silence, Arthur carefully feels around to judge where Merlin’s head it, running one hand up to cup the back of his head and pull it closer to him, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

“I’m right here,” he reassures, murmuring into Merlin, “I’m not angry.”

He can feel the soft puffs of Merlin’s breath on his neck, can feel his fingers twisting and untwisting in the folds of Arthur’s nightshirt.

“Is this a dream,” he hears Merlin mumble, probably not for his ears, “and if it is, can I wake up now before I ruin everything?”

Arthur fights the urge to tense at Merlin’s voice, so low, so _hopeless._ A sadness spills into the air between them, drawn forth from Merlin’s words. It spreads patiently, smothering them until Arthur has to lean down and gasp into Merlin’s ear.

“If it’s easier to pretend,” he whispers, “then yes, Merlin. This is a dream.”

Some part of Merlin relaxes into his hold and he dares to cuddle him more, turning a little onto his front and catching Merlin in a firm embrace between his body and the bed. He gropes for a pillow, tucking it behind Merlin to make a cradle, holding him tight. He doesn’t stop the mumbled reassurances.

“I’m right here, Merlin, I’m not angry. I’m not going to hurt you. You won’t ruin anything, I promise.”

Seemingly incentivized by Arthur’s permission to view this as a dream, Merlin’s fingers grow bolder, leaving their terrified clutch in the fabric of the nightshirt to travel long, exploring paths up Arthur’s arms, tangling lightly in his hair, stroking down his back. The fascinated movements make Arthur’s head spin. It feels like he’s being memorized, that Merlin is trying to… _learn_ him, every inch of him. The caresses feel like they’re everywhere and nowhere.

In the darkness, Arthur conducts his own exploration, leaning down and nosing Merlin’s hair, swinging one leg carefully over Merlin’s, drawing him into a gentle pin. Nothing that will work if Merlin truly wants to be free, but enough of a comforting weight to reassure him that Arthur is here, he’s not going anywhere. He runs his own hands along Merlin's body, feeling the bumps of his ribs, the elegant sweeps of his face, the softness of the light dusting of hair on his chest.

Arthur hisses lightly when Merlin’s hands reach his chest.

“Cold,” he murmurs in explanation, leaning down to trace the edge of Merlin’s nose with his own, “go on, Merlin. Explore.”

Arthur has never had this much skin on skin contact with someone else and had it feel so chaste.

It’s not sexual. The air doesn’t hum with energy or whatever the bards love to sing about. It’s just…them. If this had happened before he’d met Merlin, he’d call it worship.

Merlin, sweet, cuddly, _lovely_ Merlin finally works his hands up to Arthur’s face, cupping his jaw and smoothing his thumbs over Arthur’s cheeks. Arthur pauses, not wanting to move and dislodge Merlin’s hands. He closes his eyes, feeling Merlin’s hands sweep over his forehead, down his nose, gently, _gently_ over his closed eyes. The sensation sends shivers down Arthur’s spine.

“If this is a dream,” Merlin mumbles, “please don’t wake me until I’ve finished.”

“I won’t,” Arthur promises, “if only you will promise not to wake _me.”_

Reaching up, Arthur carefully takes Merlin’s hands in his, playing with Merlin’s fingers as he lies down, careful to keep most of his weight off the smaller man. He leans down, tucks his head into the crook of Merlin’s neck, traces a long path up the side of his neck, over the curve of his jaw, up to his hairline. Remembers the smell of Merlin, the feeling of him here, safe, sheltered underneath him. Trails his fingers lightly over Merlin’s palms, feeling his hands twitch.

“Are your eyes closed?”

“Yes,” Merlin breathes.

Arthur leans down, finds the edge of Merlin’s face, and works his way in, nosing carefully along the sharp cheekbones, over the bridge of his nose, carefully pressing a kiss to each of Merlin’s eyelids. He has to stop then, leaning his forehead against Merlin’s, fighting the urge to pant. This…this is…perhaps Merlin had the right idea, thinking of this as a dream. He can’t imagine he’d be nearly this bold if he let himself know this was _real._

But it is real.

It’s _real._

He really has Merlin here, in his bed, letting him touch and caress and stroke him into a state of tranquility. He really has Merlin doing the same to him, _trusting_ him.

It’s real.

“Merlin,” he murmurs quietly, so quietly, trying not to break the silence, “what’s keeping you awake?”

Merlin hums sleepily.

Arthur trails his fingers over Merlin’s palm again. “Merlin, please. Tell me?”

He feels Merlin tense under him, hears the slight rustle as Merlin shakes his head. “Don’t want to ruin this.”

“You won’t,” Arthur soothes, tracing calming circles into Merlin’s palm with his thumb, “you won’t. I’m not going anywhere. You won’t make me.”

Merlin shifts. “You’ll be angry.”

“I won’t. I promise.” When Merlin still hesitates, Arthur presses another kiss to his servant’s cheek. “And if it makes it easier, you can still think of this as a dream. Where if it doesn’t turn out the way you hoped, you can wake up and it never happened.”

Arthur’s heart pounds in his throat, Merlin lacing his fingers through Arthur’s, holding him tight.

“I won’t hurt you,” Arthur promises, “I won’t be angry. I won’t leave.”

Merlin gives his hands a tug and Arthur obeys, lowering himself to lie on top of Merlin, settling his head on the pillow next to him. Merlin frees one of his hands, reaching to run up and down Arthur’s back, making the prince hum and stretch like some big cat. If he could purr, he’s sure he would. Then Merlin’s hand settles in the small of Arthur’s back, where it lingers, just for a second, then clenches into a fist and moves away.

“I’m a sorcerer,” comes the breathless voice, “I…I have magic.”

Arthur’s heart stops.

Not because Merlin has magic, no. He’d figured that out already. Well, no, the _knights_ had figured that out already and didn’t talk as quietly as they thought they did. But once he’d started paying attention, yeah, he’d noticed it too. He’s sure that’s partly the reason why they’ve all got a coup planned if he ever hurts Merlin.

Which, first off, Merlin is _his,_ thank you very much. If anyone is leading a coup because someone hurt Merlin, it’s him.

No, the reason Arthur’s heart stops is because of what this _means._

No _wonder_ Merlin doesn’t like going to meetings with his father.

No _wonder_ Merlin grew so close to Gaius so quickly.

No _wonder_ Merlin insists that not every magic-user is evil.

No _wonder_ he found Merlin, curled up, crying, shaking, _terrified_ in his chambers.

And yet, Merlin trusts him. Trusts him with a secret that could have him burned. Trusts him, _him,_ with this…with his life. With _everything._

He knows he should be angry. But…should he? Merlin hasn’t _lied_ to him, as a matter of fact, he’s _said_ he’s a sorcerer. If anything, Arthur just hasn’t listened.

He can’t fault a man for keeping secrets, nor can he fault a man for trying to survive.

As for it being illegal, well.

Technically, everything they’ve _done_ tonight is illegal.

“Thank you,” he breathes instead, “thank you for telling me.”

“It’s only for you, Arthur,” Merlin says, “my magic. I’ve only ever used it for you.”

“Then I am in your debt,” Arthur says easily, fighting the urge to pull Merlin into another hug, “and I thank you for it.”

A jolt shoots through them and he startles, only to realize it’s _Merlin,_ curling in on himself, wrenching away from Arthur.

“No, no,” Arthur says, scrambling to get Merlin back, “no, come back, come back, I’m not angry, I told you, I’m not angry. I’m not going anywhere, come _here—_ “

“I’ve ruined it,” Merlin sobs, each one landing like a dead weight in Arthur’s stomach, “I’ve ruined it!”

“You haven’t ruined anything,” Arthur soothes, desperately trying to find Merlin in the dark, “I’m right here, come back to me, come—come, it’s alright—“

“It’s _not,_ ” Merlin cries, “because this is a dream and—and when I wake up this isn’t how it’s going to go and—and you’ll be—the _real_ you will be so angry and—and now I’ve gotten my hopes up—“

Arthur flails, reaching, _trying—_ there! His hands knock one of Merlin’s arms and he pounces, pulling Merlin back against him, back to the middle of the bed, wrapping him up in his arms, his legs, the blankets, _anything_ to keep Merlin right here, _right_ here, unmoving, where he can look after him and keep him safe.

“It’s real Merlin,” Arthur says in a hurry, “It’s real, I’m really here, I’m really not angry, I promise—“

“You said it was a dream!” Merlin doesn’t stop struggling, Arthur trying to hold onto him. “You said it was!”

“I said if it was easier to _pretend_ it was a dream,” Arthur pants, “we could! But it’s real, Merlin, I—“

“No,” Merlin cries, “it’s not, you know it’s—ah!”

“Merlin!”

In the struggle. they get caught on the edge of the bed, Merlin tumbling off the side of it, pulling Arthur with him. They roll out of the darkness, into the moonlight. They lie there for a moment, dazed until they realize what’s happened.

Merlin scrambles up, eyes wild, trying to run but Arthur’s faster. He sticks his leg out and trips him, jumping up and pinning Merlin to the ground, seizing his hands in an effort to stop the poor thing thrashing around and hurting himself.

“Shh, shh,” Arthur tries frantically, “Merlin, you have to stop, you’re going to hurt yourself, _shh._ ”

Merlin may be stronger than he looks, but he’s no match for Arthur, especially on his back, on the floor, pinned under Arthur’s weight. His eyes dart everywhere, looking anywhere but Arthur’s face, until Arthur gathers his wrists in one hand and Merlin’s chin in the other. holding him steady.

They stay there, panting in the moonlight.

“You have magic,” Arthur says finally, “you’re a sorcerer, and I’m not angry.”

“You—you’re not?”

“No, Merlin. I’m not angry. I’m not going to hurt you, and I’m not leaving.”

“Is…is this a dream?”

Arthur smiles, looking down at his servant glowing in the moonlight. Slowly, gently, he sits up, drawing Merlin with him, perching the smaller man in his lap.

“It’s real, Merlin,” he murmurs, lifting Merlin’s wrists to lie on his shoulders, stroking Merlin's sides, “it’s not a dream.”

“P-promise?”

In response, Arthur lightly pinches Merlin’s side, smiling at his servant’s yelp. Merlin looks back at him, the hope in his eyes outshining the moonlight.

“Cross my heart,” Arthur murmurs, “it’s real.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on tumblr while we're all in quarantine. 
> 
> https://a-small-batch-of-dragons.tumblr.com/


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